Trained (Completed)

Chapter 24: Throw up or throw down?

Pure eyes fill the room. But are they as pure as they appear? Awkward, but Clinton ignores the overwhelming feelings. Just trying to shove everything aside, to be professional, or more so, fake. Checking the watch on his wrist, it's almost twelve. He told Palmer to come through, hoping she still will. So they can talk about last night.

"How can I help you out today?" Clinton leans over the swivel chair, pretending to be busy with the computer. Clicking on the mouse, scrolling up and down, looking at the black screen.

Dressed in a blue muscle tee, the man seems to be in decent shape. "Yeah, well I heard about your gym from someone at work. That business isn't doing too well." Damn. Thanks for the reminder asshat. Clinton isn't looking for handouts. Well, not anymore he isn't. Learning from the last, or current one so to speak. "Just dropping by to see if I can help out in any way."

There it is. This douche doesn't want to be here. Probably thought there'd be loads of bitches here to watch him bench. News flash, Clinton trains one on one, or tries to. "Are you serious about this? Not really trying to waste anyone's time here." The jab was more than a hit. Could be from his life falling apart, to Palmer. Whose life will fall apart shortly.

The guy, smirks. "I can see why you don't have a lot of people. You talk to everyone like this?"

Clinton's knuckles squeeze tight upon the desk. "You coming in here for what? You don't seem like the type to even need personal training. I don't know what you thought this was, but I'm not looking for handouts. You can be on your way sir."

Just as the man is about to turn, Palmer walks in, creating the men to turn their heads. Eyes grow wide from each, but for all different reasons. "Thomas?" His name is breathy on her tongue. Hair dangles, but she pushes it behind her ears. Desperate. Desperate for answers, a way out. "What are you doing here?"

"Palmer." Her name doesn't sound as good anymore. Not since Clinton took over. the touch of him probably wouldn't even create a reaction. "You work out here?" Palmer nods her head. Words have died. It's been so long since she's seen this man. But not long enough. "Hope you're getting your money's worth." His eyes check her out. Scanning her in a pink little tank top, and black short shorts. "I can definitely see a difference."

She searches Clinton. His lips are tight, keeping the words locked inside. "Tell me you aren't working out here."

That smirk returns, along with crossed arms. "Wasn't going to, but I might have to reconsider if it means I get to see you."

"That's not happening. None of it. You're not working out here, nor are you going to see Palm."

Thomas cracks ups. "What the fuck is Palm? Palmer is a dumb enough name but shit, Palm? That's new level."

Clinton scolds Palmer. "How do you know this shitbag?"

Lips crack, stuttering syllables. "He's my ex-boyfriend."

Clinton's turn to laugh. "Oh you mean that piece of shit that cheated on you? Too fucking rich. You let a real one go."

"The only thing I let go was real good fuck." Palmer cups her mouth. Shocked at the words he just expressed.

Clinton doesn't think, he just does. Climbing over the counter, he grabs Thomas by the shirt. Decking him right in the face. No one wants to mess with Kline. Especially not when he's already pissed off. This fucker just dug the grave deeper. Grabbing the man's throat, he pins him up against the wall. "Fuck you!", he spits. "Palmer is too good for you. Too good for anyone. She's stunning, smart, funny, nice, all the assets are there. She's perfect and that's why you cheated, isn't? Because you'll never be good enough for her."